


Snippets

by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng



Series: Merlin Drabbles [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-03 23:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12758268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng/pseuds/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
Summary: Collection of random, unconnected drabbles. Some angst, some fluff, some introspection.





	1. Worth (Less)

"You could have been killed."

Merlin nods. No surprise at the idea, no fear, just stubborn determination, acceptance. As if that fact had already been considered and deemed irrelevant. Or hadn't been considered at all; had been of so little importance to the calculation as to receive little or no acknowledgement.

His father had once said that Merlin's life was "worth less" than Arthur's, had stated it as if it were natural and immutable fact.

Staring in wonder at the man before him now, Arthur thinks he may have just found the one thing Merlin and his father agreed on.


	2. Laundry

Laundry should be simple. Gather dirty laundry, wash the dirty laundry, rinse the soapy laundry, hang the clean laundry, return the clean laundry.

For Merlin, it was more like: hide dirty laundry until it can't be ignored, probably trip and spill laundry everywhere on your way to the washing rooms, get soaked attempting to wash and rinse laundry, get tangled in the sheets while hanging them, probably trip and spill laundry on the way back to Arthur's chambers, return to washing rooms and begin again.

It was far from simple, but then few things in Camelot were simple for Merlin.


	3. Connection

Merlin loved books: the smell, the feel, the weight in his hands. He loved the sharing of knowledge across centuries and cultures, the little glimpse of who the author was. The little bits of the people who'd loved them before.

He could read any kind of books, but his favorite was his magic book, this tangible connection to the thing that throbbed inside him and in the world around him and in other people. This tiny connection to someone _like him_ whose name he didn't even know. This connection to magic that wasn't complicated by duty and justice and destiny.


	4. Girls

Arthur had never had trouble attracting attention from girls. Why should he? He was tall and broad-shouldered with chiseled features, an accomplished knight, a crown prince.

Then along came Merlin and turned everything upside-down because he somehow attracted _just as much attention_ even though he was none of that. He was nothing but a skinny, clumsy, mouthy peasant.

Even Morgana— _the king’s ward_ —paid him attention, though Arthur was half convinced that was just to get under his own skin.

Guinevere paid him attention, too, and Arthur hadn’t expected—and tried not to think about—how much that bothered him.


	5. Birthday

Arthur hated his birthday. It was the anniversary of his mother’s death as well as his birth—she died the very day he was born; he killed her before he even knew her.

Later, his father—the only parent he had ever known—had been fatally stabbed on his birthday, protecting _him_ from an assassin who had sneaked in with entertainers for _his_ birthday party in revenge for _his_ actions and in his father’s chambers because _he_ was.

If he weren’t born, his mother would be alive. If he hadn’t killed Odin’s son, his father would.

Birthdays were a reminder.


	6. Oops

“Merlin,” Arthur said, in that clipped, incredibly reasonable tone that usually meant he was about to do something not very nice (but probably at least a little earned). “That wouldn’t have been the sound of a priceless, irreplaceable family heirloom being broken beyond repair I just heard, would it?”

“You mean the cup?” 

“The ceremonial goblet my father imported from the finest foreign craftsmen specifically for his coronation.”

“Ah. Well. I wouldn’t say beyond repair, necessarily. A skilled craftsman can do any number of incredible repairs and I’m hardly an expert in the matter; it’s entirely possible—“

“Merlin.”

“Oops?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better?
> 
> Does it make up for the last one?
> 
> Honestly, that was something I've been pondering off and on since Uther died and a friend brought it up, so I just had to write it. Sorry. Sort of.


	7. Lonely (Merlin and the Bed)

__

Merlin

__

_  
_

\---------------------

Camelot held easily a hundred times the population of Ealdor—the citadel alone had more people living there than his home town. Merlin had more friends here than at home where there had been only Will.

None of that stopped him from being lonely.

Not when only one of those many people knew and understood his life. Not when his friends unknowingly condemned what he was at his core. Not when people like him often considered him a traitor to their kind, when he had to fight—kill—them.

He would always be lonely so long as magic was banned.

\---------------------

_

The Bed

_

\---------------------

The bed missed his sleeper. He wasn't a very good sleeper; he was never in bed as much as he should be—sometimes he'd disappear entirely for days—and when he was, he was constantly tossing and turning and sometimes talking or even shouting. Any sleeper was better than no sleeper at all, though, and he was lonely when his sleeper was gone.

Not quite as lonely as he had been before, when his only sleepers were temporary, always sick and messy.

But it wasn't just because this sleeper was more regular that he missed him. He was special. His.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are dedicated to 1917farmgirl, who helped me complete my NaNo goals, cheering me and pushing me as needed and always willing to read and give me prompts when needed. She gave me the prompt "lonely," but apparently I wasn't meant to crush her heart or something because she came back with the amended prompt regarding Merlin's bed and Merlin's lack of sleep. I prefer the first one, she prefers the second I think. They belong together either way.
> 
> Happy December!
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng


	8. Until

Arthur knew philosophically that peasants had less; that was how life was. But he’d never really thought about it.

Not until he’d casually handed Merlin a gold coin to go buy something and the boy had ogled it and held it gingerly, confirming at Arthur’s jibe that he’d never seen one before.

Not until Guinevere had admonished that the people of Ealdor didn’t have enough for even that thin gruel to not be a sacrifice. Not until Merlin had happily eaten rat stew because at least it was something.

Not until he’d seen, in a hundred little things since Merlin.


	9. Shared Affliction

From the moment they'd met, Merlin had been recklessly, fearlessly, dangerously bold. He'd had very definite opinions and never hesitated a moment in sharing them with anybody. Emphatically. Defiantly. He'd get wild ideas and pursue them with nothing but luck on his side and not a care in the world, grinning madly in the face of danger he didn't seem to understand. If Arthur hadn't been keeping him alive, the idiot would have died years ago.

It was a very serious mental affliction, one that Arthur had never seen before and didn't expect to again.

Then Merlin had found Gwaine.


	10. False Perfection

What Merlin had always loved about snow was when it blanketed the world undisturbed and made everything seem clean and peaceful—perfect.

What Merlin did not love about the snow was how it slithered into his boots every time he was forced to tramp after Arthur on another hunt or patrol. He did not love how it hid wicked roots that sent him sprawling into its frigid depths.

He did not love how it clung persistently to Arthur's boots and cloak just long enough to melt all over his clean floor, mingled with mud from the training yards or wherever.


End file.
